Defying Gravity
by I am and I
Summary: There are people who just make you want to run and hide. Then there's those who make you want to fly: everything you could ever want or need.Mostly drabble... [Xigbar x Demyx]
1. High

_Well, loves, if you haven't noticed, I love Demyx. I love making him a little whore, and I love people who write him as smart, manipulative and seductive. I'd imagine he's a wonderful liar, and I'd imagine he's definitely a lot more cocky and just plain evil. This one may seem OOC, but honestly, I can see him taking the lead any day. That scene where he whips around and gives Sora the "Evil Eye"... let that stand as proof. I still get fan-girly chills from that._

Warnings: XigbarxDemyx lovin', mention of drug-use, slight yaoi... lemons may come later if I decide I want to continue this.

Disclaimer: I own nothing :'(

Edit!

_So yes. I have a beta now - best beta ever, mind you - and my beloved Mousewolf has been working her arse off to make my stories beautiful (better than I could ever manage...)._

_I should start calling these collaborative henceforth. Amazing stuff. So here's the updated better version. LOVE!_**

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::: High :::

He's the color of peaches and gold and sunset and that clear vodka that you just tipped back, tipped back, tipped back again, the cold-fire burn that trails from your hollow chest to your groin. He's the cascading foam on a breaker's tip, the white water, the rapids that cascade across you in nothing but a pair of boxer-briefs and a sweater that's about eight sizes too big for him.

His face smiles as he dances and sways to the music. He's wearing ankle-high crew socks and sliding around on the tile floor madly, laughing, laughing, laughing from all the white powder.

"It's like ice-skating!" he screams, and you laugh. You just laugh and laugh, and you rise up, your pants hanging from a thread. You're vain. You look down and make sure that you're showing just a little more than you know you should, and you know that you are.

You catch the raving blond in your arms and hush him with a kiss.

"Shhh! Everyone's sleeping, little dude. You gotta hush." You explain, but he's not listening. He's leaning up and pressing his lips against your chin because his knees have buckled and he can't stand up any more.

"I want you now!" he pants desperately, almost snarls, slinging thin arms around your neck. His eyes are clouded aqua, like shallow tropical waters stirred up with sand. He gazes up at you so endearingly; sagging limp in your arms and with his lips cracked only the littlest bit, lower lip pouting only the slightest.

And you want him, too, so badly.

Within, without, and holding up and breaking down and falling skyward and forever. You want to fly.

You hold onto him and manipulate whatever the hell it is that you can push around and all of a sudden, you're both on the ceiling staring down at the marble floor, and the blond is racked with laughter. He looks like he's going to pass out, he's just that high and happy.

You let him swing down, and he defies gravity, floating on the air like it was water, stealing your trick all too easily, and before you know it, you're kissing him back. It's not a wimpy kiss either. This boy, so significantly younger than you, is encroaching on your mouth, pressing past the barriers in the most delightfully hungry way.

You kiss him back with matching fervor, biting, playing, and sliding a hand into that sweater to caress a sensitive nipple. The kid shudders, pulling back.

"And I thought _Axel _was bad!" he laughs, grinning cutely.

"Him? He's a total rookie, little dude. Where d'you think he learnt it?" you drawl, pulling the object of your lusts back up against you effortlessly. You can't help but wonder if you're going to regret all this. Isn't this someone else's toy, the only truly flame-resistant one among them? Did you not just get the kid stoned off of his ass and yourself drunk just so that you could indulge this little fantasy? Is it even fair?

Your alcohol addled brain has no time to register, though, as you are roughly taken into hand by this seemingly innocent slip of a boy. He grins.

"You think I play my sitar well?" he whispered, breath hot and heavy, sultry eyes like you'd see a desperate hooker glaring at you with, the bottom of the ocean where there's no light, no air, but there's still life, rich and strange. His teeth look like perfectly straight tombstones, and each one has your name carved on it. "Let's see what I can get out of you, sweetie…"

A hand slides up your bare chest, up because you're turned over with feet to the ceiling. Really, he's going down, fingers following the lines demarking each territory of a muscle, and his fingers are just barely touching your skin. The hand on your throbbing member is rough, hard, callused from years of manipulating the strings of his instruments, but the way he's playing, the way he caresses and fondles you is just impossible to describe. A shudder tingles up and down your spine. You've never been so aroused in your entire life.

"Tonight," the blond whispers, the sounds of waves breaking over rocks in the night, "I'm going to make you sing."


	2. Solo Mio

_Beta'd and now utterly amazing! Fear the boy-love!_

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::: Solo Mio :::

His hands are perfect, strong, they don't need to do a damn thing more than touch because, oh god, you're in heaven. You're moaning soft and low as those terrible, awesome fingers keep finding every chink in your armor, there and there and _there_. He presses his rose-sherbet lips against that place just below your neck. You moan and tremble and you melt like lead in a furnace, heavy and yielding.

You place your hands on his hips but he pushes them away, makes you hold still because he is in complete control of this moment. He is the professional musician who will never really bond with the instrument he manipulates; the virtuoso who has no love for his violin.

For this moment, he is alone. Only this one lone man with darkened well-deep eyes and hair the color of spun gold and sand and milk-white skin that glows like seashells in the sun. This is all you can see, all you can take in and all you need now is permission to touch him, ungiven and unforgiven for sins uncommitted.


	3. Allegro

_Watch out for lemon, lemon, lemon! _

_Yep. I finally got down to it. Um... Experimental piece. Try to tell me how I can improve._

_Demyx's POV now._

Edit!

_Newly beta'd and a thousand times better. So have it!_

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:::Allegro::: 

Your head hurts something awful.

You don't feel like playing anymore.

His hands reach up, and this time, you guide them gently to where you want him to touch. He obliges, pulling you down against him. He smells like gunpowder and sweat. It's interesting.

His tongue snakes out from between thin, smiling lips, laps gently across the line of your jaw, but you're impatient. You catch the older man off guard when you swivel your head and capture his mouth with yours. You lean up onto your knees and you grab him hard by the hips. You need it _now_. The urge is so strong that you ache and throb and it almost hurts.

He grabs your wrists, getting your attention just long enough to press a little tube of lube into your hand. You laugh, give him that "Oh, I forgot," look and slather your swollen member with a generous amount of the slick stuff. You gently insert one finger, two, three, slowly preparing your lover for what's to come. You're bigger than he thought, he admits, but he's not an instrument any more so you treat him courteously. He's not just your opportunity for pleasure now, because you want to please him just as much as he wants to please you. You smile at that thought, join with him as gently as you can manage.

You make love to him, slow, torturously eliciting each strangled sigh and moan. He matches your rhythm, but his single glowing gold eye begs you for more. You increase your pace, suddenly gaining a keen taste for the rough side of it all. He grins and reaches up, tweaks your nipple painfully. You, in turn, grab his manhood and stroke, hard and fast, distracting him just long enough to lean in and bite him hard where the pectoral muscle rises up from the ribs. His breath hitches.

Each sensation, each careless touch and motion becomes something sacred, heightened sensitivity is driving you out of your head. You move faster, harder, stroking your lover at the same pace, and his breath is ragged; his hands rove aimlessly across the rippled sheets. His belly is hard and ribbed like a washboard and you can't keep your free hand from exploring each little grove.

He moans, body arching upward, and he comes into your hand. You know you're reaching your own climax, you beg, beg, beg him, him to stay with you until finally, that feeling of release grows on you. You don't want to make a mess of his sheets so you grip yourself firmly at the base of your member, a trick you learned a few years back when you were more than just an empty shell with base needs. You sigh contentedly and fall back to the sheets. He smiles and pulls you close to him, combined body heat stifling and heady. "You know, we ought to do that again sometime."

"Yeah," you reply, "We will."


	4. L'amour

_Naughty old me, back again for more... This is the second to last chapter. I only intended five for this, so yeah... I think this may end on a sad note... but tell me what you want to see. I dunno. Last chapter will be your choice. :D I hope you've enjoyed thus far!_

_(P.S. It's back to Xiggy's POV)_

Edit!

_Edit! Same as every other chapter! Beta'd now, by the amazing Mousewolf:D All of you should seriously go pay homage!_

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::: L'Amour :::

As many times as you tell yourself it was wrong, you go back for more, and more, and more, a headier drug than any you gave to him that first night.

He fucks you silly as he acts, sometimes, fucks you until you can't breathe or see or think, just hold on and pray not to drown.

By this time, the others are starting to notice, and your previous lover gives you angry glances and disgruntled comments, but you always reply the same way. Xaldin never gave you what you wanted, and though you still stand there before him in his room, bare-chested with your hair down—so intimate—your mind is never really there. You're thinking about the boy who is the color of sand and seashells, whose lips taste like rosehips and light-on-water, whose boyish grace and charm makes you love-drunk just to look at him.

He too has hard times with his lover, and he comes out of it with bruises. Axel is no gentleman, by Nobody and nature, and he's not wont to put down what he has claimed as his. But he seems distracted lately, and that's good for you both… it gives you time to kiss all those bruises and cuts better.

His blood is like a rich red wine, old and addictive, and you take every opportunity to find it. Each new love bite on that graceful long neck is like your signature, and in your vanity, you imagine writing it across his chest one day, "Xigbar was here."

But for now, it's illicit.

And all you can do is send each other sultry glances across the dining room table when no one else is looking.

Ah, l'amour.


	5. Noo Good Deed

_Yes, my friends. The final installment. And it's sad._

_Thanks, InnocentGuilt, for the inspiration. I totally owe you. Hopefully this lived up to your expectations!_

_Ta-ta, for now!_

_Edit!_

_Yes. This too was beta'd. Every inch of DG was edited by Mousewolf in like... three days or something... like oh my god, I'm totally hyperventilating right now... Give props! Bow down and give props because I'm totally incapable! lol._

_Hope you all enjoy._

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::: No Good Deed :::

"Trust me," He whispers, "You won't take more than ten minutes to kick this kid's ass up between his shoulder blades. Even the superior thinks so!"

"I know," You say softly, "But I just can't get this bad feeling out of my head."

You pull him closer, hide your face in the mess of long, curiously silky hair he finally let down for you. You really do have a bad feeling about all this, but you've always got that bad feeling lately. It's probably just nerves, so you shove the feeling off and grab your lover's chin, press a kiss on his lips.

"Don't worry, little dude," he laughs, pulling you into a more intimate kiss. "I promise we'll party hard when ya get back. We'll break out the good gin, yeah?"

--- ---

You smile, the glittering gold on the horizon before the iron-grey clouds hit the ocean.

_Yeah, easy. Xigbar was right. This will be easy as pie. I'll tear him to pieces so itty-bitty that no one will even know what he was before!_

And indeed you're convinced that this is exactly what you'll do to him. This key-bearer, so scrawny and pathetic with a duck and what remotely passes for a dog following him around. You think it'll be a snap of your dexterous fingers and then you'll be back banging that far from ordinary "old guy" who captured those decaying little fragments of your heart that stuck into your flesh like so many splinters.

You're powerful, unbridled, more dangerous than the sea herself.

But something is wrong here. Something's fundamentally screwed and you can't quite figure out what exactly it is that's bothering you, whether it's in your head or your mostly hollow chest or elsewhere. You dance about like a fool until cold hard metal bites into your shoulder and you spring back, howling in pain. You regain your composure quickly but you can't help but wonder where the hell that came from.

Just as soon as you've settled back into a smooth rhythm of pummeling the kid into unforgiving positions and soaking his companions, it happens again. Steel bites deep into your side and all you can manage to do is flee blindly. No time to heal the ragged wound. The kid is back and now you're utterly fucking desperate, hitting him with anything you can manage.

For the first time in your relatively short existence, you're scared out of your goddamn mind.

Another strike lands itself firmly in the crook of your neck, and you're suddenly very weak, collapsed to your knees. Your weapon dissolves like a dream and you look to your empty hands in despair. It's all so painfully clear.

_X-Xigbar…_

"No…No _way_!"

_If only I could have seen your face… just one last time._

--- ---

"You should never have fucking let him go!" you scream, "You're no better than a murderer!"

Xemnas looks on at this spectacle in the most bizarrely calm way, red-amber and emotionless. "I am sorry for your loss, Xigbar. Truly, I am."

"Liar…" you hiss.

_This isn't his fault, though - it was me. I killed him. I killed him. I killed my own love just as sure as though I'd shot him through the head. Forgive me, Demyx…_

"But you will have your taste of revenge. He comes. And when this key-bearer does, you may kill him." Was that a smile at the edge of the Superior's mouth. Nah, just a trick of the light, slithy bastard that it is.

_Revenge?_

Your eye sparkles with an unholy glee.

_I will avenge you, Demyx… please forgive me…_

--- ---

It's so hard to drink alone during these long, endless nights, but you do, even through reports and Luxord trying to get you into a game to pass the time and Saïx passing through with something that could be mistaken for pity in his moon-marked eyes.

Not even when Axel, fugitive, traitor, and long-time friend despite everything, risks one night of contact for you both to get smashed together, do you come out of yourself, not once.

--- ---

You grin like the fan-shaped stocks of your guns, feeling burnt and cold as steel. "Have you been a good boy?"

"Show yourself!" the kid barks. He sounds about as threatening as a mouse.

"Oh, it sounds like you haven't." You know he hasn't, the little sonofabitch. You're going to crush him.

Utterly fucking destroy him.

You spend some time lecturing him and then it starts in earnest.

The battle is quick-paced, unrelenting, and you're doing exactly what you'd intended to do. You're thrashing the kid so badly he's having trouble even standing and you just keep warping and shifting and shooting from afar. You realize there are tears welling up from your good eye, but you just keep shooting, falling back to relying on instinct more than sight, like you did when you first found yourself half-blind. This is your revenge.

But something unexpected happens. You feel one of your own bullets slice deep into your blank side and you wince. Another, and another. You grunt and clutch the freshly bleeding wounds with a gloved hand, forcing youself not to turn your head to inspect the damage. Time to find a new hiding spot, but the kid is too clever. He's on you in a heartbeat and you're forced into the open.

You underestimated one thing, one tiny little detail that's never mentioned in the reports. This kid has healing magics.

_Shit._

You fire endless rounds at the kid, but he seems to catch on, deflecting them, sending them right back at you, and you're forced to make a choice between dodging and wasting valuable time or taking the wounds and landing shots that may or may not even strike their intended target.

After a while, you start to realize you're not as young as you used to be. You wish you could muster the strength to pull off one last attempt to save your ass, but you can't find it. It's unbearable to watch that kid getting closer and closer every second. You try something completely desperate, and you succeed in landing a few decent shots… but it's not enough and god you're tired.

_He always was a tough one to pick on. I was better off thrashing Axel's skinny ass that one time… at least he doesn't look like you could step on him by accident._

You feel that hard steel one more time, break back gracefully, holding your gun out threateningly. You'd have a perfect shot if only…

_Empty… Damn._

You collapse to your knees, wince at the pain this incites in every other wound you've sustained. You grin cockily up at the familiar face.

_You were always a little cocksucker, Roxas. I should have smacked you up good when I had the chance. Well, I'm on my way, Dem. Maybe… maybe we'll go to the same place. Yeah, that'd be cool. I'd like that, wouldn't you?_

"Why did you call me Roxas?" the kid demands.

You can't help but laugh at him on that one, the sound that last machine-gun rattle you should have had. "Wouldn't you like to know…"

_Sorry I couldn't avenge you, Demyx… Will you forgive me?_

"_Where do Nobodies go when they die?" Demyx asked nervously. He was completely wasted, but he sounded so sincere and afraid._

"_I really don't know, little dude," Xigbar replied evenly, "I really don't know. Best not to worry about it right now, though, huh? Plenty of time for all that."_

_Plenty of time. _


End file.
